You’re asking me for dating advice? Paleez…!

You didn’t have to ask. You just sit right down on my styling chair and let me give you beautiful highlights, a snappy do and then I’ll shellac it all up so you comply with all cycle helmet laws. Before I’m done I would extol my vast dating wisdom including why you should or should not drop the man you’re dating now. I work on the whole person, sweetie. I’m a full-service Mafia Hairdresser.

Before I’d ever give you specific advice on your personal dating follies, one must first understand the philosophy in which my guidance is based: My philosophy is that you must let the person you are dating earn every “pass,” every “get out jail card,” every “green light,” every kiss and bit of trust you will give him. If they don’t pass, they don’t get. Simple: right?

Let me illustrate: If a guy says he’ll call you and then he does, he gets “a pass!” If he actually matches up with what he says he is with what your Google search and his Facebook photos say he is, he gets a pass!

You may go out with him.

If a guy is late once, or if he has a bad day and seems less than attentive on one of your dates, (applies only after 1st date) you can give him a pass and go out with him again; but only after warning him that his behavior is less than satisfactory. If the behavior happens again within three months he will receive no more get out of jail cards for that behavior. In fact, dump him and move on. Do not return any phone calls. Unfriend him.

You may offer other “GOOJF” cards for different unsatisfactory behaviors.

(You are dating men so there will be many unsatisfactory behaviors.)

But no more than three “GOOJF” cards should be given out at one time.

When dating, you should always be assessing. Is your woman’s intuition sending your brain a green light? A yellow light? Or a red light? A word of caution here: we all have insecurities so sometimes you can get a false yellow or red light because your old lack-of-confidence-self is telling you crap like, “what’s a hot guy like him dating a brace-faced pimply little girl like you?” If you can quiet your “inner baby” for a few minutes you’ll be able assess whether your guy gets a green, yellow or red light on any particular subject. If you get too many yellow or red lights flashing in your brain about your man, you should seriously start the process of backing away and breaking it off. I suggest the “FADE:” Every time he calls to for another date (which has obviously resulted in yellow and red lights) tell him that “that sounds great,” but that you’ll have to get back to him – and then don’t. When he calls back make the date and then call just hours before and tell him you have an awful cold sore in a place you don’t want and then tell him you’ll call back later – then repeat, if necessary. (I know the “Fade” is a dude practice but red-light guys would never think that was being used on them.)

I am tired of smart white women telling me that Hillary Clinton is a liar and that this was the reason why they voted for Trump. If the women who voted for Trump had read articles in The New York Times, The Washington Post and NPR, and other respectable readables – they would have seen plenty of evidence that Hillary Clinton is a pretty damn-straight politician. Of the Fact Checking between the two candidates: Hillary lied 14.2% and Donald lied 63%. (most politicians lie 10 t0 20%) This past September candidate debate should have opened white women’s eyes. Here, Line for line – NPR shows us what a liar Donald Trump is (and continues to be). CLICK HERE

I only bring this up because, every time I bring up what Trump is doing RIGHT THIS MINUTE, my Trump-voting White Women friends always bring up that they didn’t trust Hillary… This is not an excuse of any kind. I don’t want to talk about Hillary Clinton so you can address your guilt – I am talking about what Trump is doing RIGHT THIS MINUTE. The man you voted for is trying to take away my rights as well of the rights millions of my American brothers and sisters.

To the white women and to all women who voted for Trump – You made a mistake; A life & livelihood-costing mistake. So you didn’t fact check before you voted. We need to move on. Please, I urge you start reading and fact check now. The man you voted for is putting people in power that want to take away gay rights, women’s rights, minorities freedoms as well as give so much more breaks to the rich than the middle and lower class of our society. And please, don’t ask me to wait and see what Donald Trump will do. START READING – He’s doing what he said he was going to do RIGHT NOW!

Click on picture for interactive chart to see how these politician rank as far as truth and lies.

My friend Erinn, just texted me two pictures of different Blackhawks Jerseys. Our friend Jan has been so generous to us both and Erinn thought one of these would be a nice gift to say, “Thank you.”

I should have put up my “dude shield.” Every guy knows what a dude shield is. It’s that mental barrier we have to put up to defend against incoming questions, polls and seemingly innocent inquiries for her clarifications or “group decisions.” In other words, I should have known that I was not really being asked for my opinion; my friend Erinn had already decided on what she was going to buy for Jan or Erinn was just “thinking out loud,” as women do.
What women don’t seem to understand is that we men are literal. If our dude shield is not up, we actually think what you are saying or asking is what you are saying or asking. When we talk back to girls, we always like to give our opinion. In fact, we are ego-centric (you knew that one already) so we like to give our opinions, on just about everything, and we only like it when you agree with and act upon our opinions. It goes along with our need to fix things right away.
Nothing is “about the process” for us — it’s the end result. We don’t enjoy thinking out loud. We want the big finish or win. If we have to talk too much, learn something too difficult, practice or work too hard, we will lose interest. When Erinn asked my opinion, my dude shield was down, I became engaged and I believed I was part of making a final decision. Here was my honest response:

When Erinn gave me a third choice, that’s when I should have put up my dude shield. If this was read as a court manuscript, a judge would say this was a clear case of “leading the halfwit” by confusing me with the men’s sizing thing. This new information just made me associate: this was a man’s shirt so I only thought of myself wearing it, not Jan.
I should have realized Erinn was just “throwing things out there…” But, with my dude shield still down, I was still conversing like I was talking to another guy; on my mobile phone, viewing a small selection of items, picking out one — done! — A sense of wellbeing and accomplishment would surely follow.

Eight minutes later, when Erinn texted back, I realized my folly. There was going to be no win for me. No sense of “mission accomplished.” I was just “one of the girls — just talkin’.” My responses or opinions were not being used properly and I was probably going to have to be very careful about what I was going to say next. What I wanted to say was:

But every guy knows what would happen if I said “WTF.” I would have to pay. I’d have to pay by listening to, I don’t know, something like, “I do value your opinion. But you didn’t really elaborate. I thought you weren’t paying attention.” Erinn’s a girl, so she could turn anything around to make me think I was nuts or illogical and, of course, an asshole. So I let a few minutes go by before I responded, but not too much time as to let her surf the net for three or more choices to throw at me.

And then I waited. And waited. I knew there was going to be more. More questions. More pictures. Just more. And I was going to have to hold back and be careful. I’d only give short, succinct sentences. “Yes.” “No.” “Great!” Either way I was going to be put out of my misery. I just didn’t know how quickly and to the wick it was going to be.

Agh! I did it to myself. I gave way to much. I spent too much. I distracted myself away from my goals. And I was so mad at myself for repeating my own history that I hardly slept a wink last night so now my work day is going to be bunk. Dear readers, I will have to vent to you or I’ll have to go to therapy to re-hash what I already know: I’m a big fat loser at love.

Of course, for anyone who knows me: my social media clients, my hair clients, friends, family and all my Twitter Followers and Facebook Friends, I am newly single. Yup, after 5 years of “the healthiest” “bestest” “loving” relationship I’ve ever had, just one minute into our first couple’s therapy session ended that. Our councilor ask my significant-to-me-other if he would like to say anything before we got started and he said, “I’m over this relationship and I have been for a while and I want to move on.” Please don’t ask me if I didn’t see that one coming. No. The answer is no! I never see it coming. At least he broke up with me in-person and it wasn’t over the phone while I was working in a different country just one day before my fiance’ and me were supposed to meet for a big vacation and finalize our wedding. (I took the vacation by myself and you can read about that relationship in my second “novel,” The Glow Stick Gods.)

The point is that I must be starved for affection, or I’m needy or I’m just a horrible partner to have. Perhaps I have no radar for love? Obviously, it’s me and it’s always been me! I just don’t know what I’d do differently. I’m not going to look for the answers right now: This is venting. I told you that. My mental health — your expense.

So: this guy I know, “Dan” from Seattle, comes for a visit to Chicago for a convention. He’s a retired U.S. Army Vet who got a free ticket to the convention and a free hotel room and flight under a program provided to vets to upgrade their skills for career changes. I’m thinking, kewl, because I remembered we had nice little fling back in the 90’s and, from what I remembered, he was nice looking and the sex was okay. It had been six months since my break up and I have not been dating and I’m soooo not a one-night-stand guy and I’m too wary of those “dating” or “hookup apps,” so I thought his visit would be just what I needed to get back my game, sort of speak.

I cleared my schedule for only the first night he arrived and we met downtown Chicago for dinner. He wanted Chicago pizza so we went to the Pizanno’s, close to his hotel. It was only 4 pm in the afternoon on a Saturday so I had a martini with my pizza. He had a coke. Aside from him being way heavier than he used to be and that he didn’t have that “break the ice” special-occasion drink with me, he began to try to keep up his part of the conversation and failed miserably. I paid for dinner. I didn’t mind. Him: One Coke and half a pizza. Me: two martini + half a pizza = I won by numbing my ears to whatever he was saying.

Did I sleep with Dan? Yes. Was it okay? Yes. Would I ever want to again? NO! But the next night, after his first day of convention, he asked me to dinner again. I thought, how bad could it be? We go to my regular haunt, Ditka’s, and have the Pot Roast Nachos and I have the Tiger Roll. I only had one martini and that was because there was more speaking and I felt I needed a little bravery to inform him that I would not be sleeping with him ever again and that I would have to go home to do some work in my office. I needn’t have worried because he immediately got heartburn so he had to rush back to his hotel. It turns out that the ground pepper on his steak and the jalapeno peppers on the nachos were too spicy for him. Another sign. By the way, he did not buy me dinner, he just handed me a twenty dollar bill when the check came. I guess I should be okay with that, because that is nearly what his steak cost and, after all, I ordered the Pot Roast Nachos appetizer — to split.

I thought I’d never see Dan again but he called and seemed like he totally expected me to go out with him for dinner again last night so I went. He wanted Thai so we walked 25 minutes from his hotel only to find out that the good Thai place downtown was closed on Mondays. The reason we walked and he risked having a stroke (because he’s too fat) is because he was too cheap to pitch in for a cab. I’m fit and I like to walk but I was so mad and hungry once we found the restaurant closed that I hailed us a cab to Greek town for some good stick-to-your ribs food. This time he gets a drink, a girly Cosmo, and I match him on that one with my straight-up vodka and have a glass of wine to boot. The bill comes, but only this time he doesn’t even reach for his wallet. Doesn’t budge.

I don’t think he ever knew that I was angry. Our 20 minute walk back to his hotel would have seemed pleasant. Once at his hotel, I told him I would be busy the next day and we said our goodbyes. There is so much I wish I could go back and do and say, or not do. I’m sure, if you’ve read this to the end, that you might have a lot to say. Feel free to comment. I’ll post it. But right now I’m just going to be angry at myself. I’m not going to look into myself and ask the hard questions. But yes, I totally see how this must be self-worth issue or a “deservedness thing.” I just don’t have the energy right now. I just don’t. I’m a loser at love and that’s all there is to it.

Everyone has at least one super power. And I believe that wholeheartedly. Even if, on the outsides, we can’t see someone else’s super powers or we cannot see our own. It’s there. One of my super powers is that I can remember every story, personal drama or event that every one of my clients has revealed, divulged or disclosed to me.

Just the other day, I went to the front of the salon to greet my next client. On the schedule the name was Barbara V. I didn’t even have to look at her client history. I had never done a Barbara V.’s hair before. This was obviously a new client referred.

There happened to be only one woman at the front of the salon and her back was to me but I immediately felt a familiarity. I knew this woman call Barbara V. Just as I was about to say her name, she turned around.

“Oh-my-God!” I screamed. “Barbara, how are you?!”

I was shocked and elated to see the face of one of my clients from California. Barbara hadn’t changed at all (except for her last name) and it had been 20 years since I had seen her.

We hugged and got down to doing her hair which seemed to me to be only the secondary purpose for our re-meeting again. During her appointment we caught up at which time it was her turn to be shocked.

While slithering my scissors through her long blonde hair I glided down memory lane, “Do you remember that crazy wedding you went to?”

Barbara was pretty sure she knew which wedding I began talking about. It was the one where one of her college gal-pals, more of an acquaintance, made a visit to her home in Long Beach, California. This gal-pal was originally on her water polo team and the two ladies hardly kept in touch except for this visit which was under the guise of seeing Barbara’s first born child (now a hairdresser). Barbara’s husband happened to be home during this visit when the gal-pall asked Barbara if she would be a bridesmaid in her upcoming wedding. Barbara’s husband (she’s now divorced from that one) was the one who chimed in and said, “We’re not doing anything that day;” Barbara was then officially in the wedding.

Unbeknownst to Barbara and by coincidence, I was the gal-pal mother’s hairdresser and I had recently started doing the gal-pal’s hair too. The mother was a well-to-do, prim-and-proper, show-off-my-status kind-of-woman. The uppity mother (great tipper!) began bringing her daughter into the salon so I could make her a show-offable beauty before the wedding. But the joke was the mother because gal-pal had been confiding in me how her mom was all but forcing her into a big wedding so daughter-dearest had decided to: “F-it. If my mom wants a lavish wedding, I’ll make her spend her money on a lavish wedding no one will ever forget.”

BTW: This wedding was held in the mid-1980s and we were in Southern California. So it didn’t seem too outrageous to anyone concerned at the time, just expensive.

Gal-pal had decided on a Gone with the Wind themed wedding, complete with bridesmaids wearing hoopskirts, clip on curls and parasols. The gents had to wear crazy vintage tuxes with string bowties and side burns. There were horses involves, and maybe carriages, certainly lots of ivy stapled to gazebos. Oh, did I tell you that gal-pal and her finance were both engineer nerds and he was Japanese? She had never walked on heels, let alone wore a bustier. Yeah, right? Oh, it gets better. Gal-pal decides to hold the wedding in Palos Verdes Estates which is a massive hill with winding roads which means taking pictures, getting married in a church and then having an outdoor reception is a logistic nightmare. And the food she was serving was ribs. Messy ribs! ‘Good thing I didn’t have to do the hair for this hot summer wedding because of the clip on curls, but I could not wait to hear about that wedding after Barbara attended.

“How did you remember all that?” Barbara asked me. I had also recalled and extolled my memories of her own wedding which I had done her hair for. I even remembered when her kids were born.

“It’s my super power,” I stated matter-of-factly.

After her hair was done and we caught up to the year 2014: She’s married to a great guy, her kids are grown, she now lives an hour out of Chicago, and her daughter couldn’t do her hair that month so she looked me up… Then we said our goodbyes until the next time we’d see each other.

I didn’t tell Barbara about my other super-power, the one that may not be as useful as my gossip and story memory. This super power allows me to see the super powers in other people and that day I got to see how Barbara’s again. She always had the super power of patience and kindness. Of course I’d remember her and everything about her, even I hadn’t seen her in 50 years. She’s the kind of person who would clip on synthetic blonde curls and dress up in a too-hot and uncomfortable Bo Peep costume to stand up for an acquaintance at her wedding. She’s the kind of woman who stuck it out with a marriage that may not have been good for her but she stayed until her kids were grown. Barbara even kept the memories of me in her heart and she still had the logo-T’s I used to sell at the salon I had owned. Lord!, she must have also put up with me in the 80s during my diva-hairdresser phase. That makes her a saint, not a super hero.

This is the start of my new series about women. I’ve been wanting to write about my women friends, my clients and my female family members for a while. (Watch out, sister in-law!) You see, I last left you off with my 50 Days of 50 series, I wrote 50 blogs in 50 days leading up to my 50th birthday. But, as real life and reality blogging go, my mother became ill during this time and what was supposed to be a light funny look at ageing turned into a bitch-slap on my ranting face and tribute not-quite-finished. That was quite a while ago and I have turned the blog into an eBook titled, 50 Days Turning 50, and you may download the PDF version free if you like. It’s my gift to anyone who is reading this. The reason I bring up 50 Days of 50 is because, as I was writing it, I kept writing about my mom and the other women in my life and I thought, “I should write a 50 Days of Women series. Come on…, who could write more “dishilly” and lovingly about women than a hairdresser who has made a career and gladly lived a lifetime listening to them?

Other than blogging for TheLocalTourist.com, SassyMomsInTheCity.com, JudyTheShow.com, SalonSpaChat.com and MafiaHairdresser.com, I’ve been neglecting my creative writing by not blogging here at WordPress. The emotional toll of the 50 Days blog was immense so I shied away from creative writing for a while. You see, my mom passed away around my 50th but I kept writing and blogging on through that experience. I never published my mom’s story, here at WordPress, nor did I let the public know what really happened at the end of those 50 days. It took me over a year to even add those journals into the eBook version. But I’m free of that at last and now I want to get back to some fun.

Women are fascinating creatures and I don’t care how much gay men think that they have so much in common with them, they are not like us (men) at all. So, next week I’m going to dive in without abandon and I shall be the bearer of good spews about the “opposite sex.” I will be kind and I will be as factual as I know how to be which means that I can be almost as bitchy as a woman and I don’t mind telling a few fibs to make a point; like all ladies do.

I will choose my subjects at random. I may use real names. Every woman in my life should be wary of my pen because you are or have been in my life. I am a better man for this or I am completely at my wits end because of our differences, I will either glorify you or take you down for this. I was going to call this series 50 Days of Women… but,…. Yeah, let’s just call it 50 Days of Women: BUT I’M ONLY COMMITTING TO WRITING ONCE A WEEK, BEYOCH!

(Thank you to Janice G. Ross for igniting my writing today. Sometimes all it takes is a nudge on Twitter and you’re inspired to write again.)